Easy, brother, I told myself. This is not the place to let your feelings cloud your senses.
There was an unspoken rule that no violence was supposed to go down at the Horse’s Head. But rules were meant to be broken and all that shit.
The guy on a ratty stool at the door to the bar recognized me, averting his eyes as I strode in.
Once inside, I was given a wide berth, too. These men knew who I was. They knew what I could do. What I’d done. Maybe to their friends or cousins. Or maybe on behalf of their friends and cousins.
I occupied an in-between space. Not on anyone’s side. Which meant everyone knew it was best not to fuck with me. One day I might come for them. The next, they might need me.
When I got to the bar, Sam pretended to be occupied in polishing a glass though it was already shining. But I made Sam nervous. He was a thin, wiry guy with a wispy beard that’d never come in altogether.
“Hi, Sam.”
“Oh. Hey. Didn’t see you come in,” he lied, still polishing the glass. It was getting annoying, so I took it from him. I put it upright on the bar in front of me. “You, uh, want something to drink?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “Sam, why do you always insist on playing these games with me?”
“Dude, do you know the kind of danger you put me in every time you’re in here?”
“No one will mess with you, because they know if they do, I’ll mess with them.”
“You won’t be around forever.”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings.”
Sam shook his head, resigned to having to deal with me. Thing was, I knew there was more than just me protecting Sam. He knew everything about everyone. No one could touch him, because he held the key to everyone’s secrets. He lived in a gray zone, like me. Only he was less comfortable in it, the poor guy.
“I need information about Antoine Larroca,” I volleyed.
Sam scoffed. I gave him my coldest stare. He swallowed hard. “You need any dirt on the devil, too?”
“You trying to say it’ll cost me?”
“I’d never be that crass,” Sam flashed a hint of a smile.
I slid the glass in front of me off the bar. Quickly dropped a thick wad of large bills into it. I returned it to the bar upside down and slid it back toward Sam.
To his credit, he did a pretty good job not letting his eyes get too big. He could tell I’d just dropped much more than his usual fee in there. He slipped the glass off the bar and pocketed the cash, looking around to make sure no one was watching him.
“Well?” I pressed.
“You’ve got good timing, as usual.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Larroca has a hit scheduled.”
“When?”
“I don’t know the exact details.”
“That was a lot of money in that glass, Sam.”
“Ask me better questions.”
“All right. How about ‘who’?”
“A city councilman.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’d never lie to you,” Sam said, actually looking a little hurt.
“Give me more,” I told him.
“I don’t have anymore. Listen, you’re talking about Antoine Larroca. Guy’s almost as dangerous as you.”
“Almost,” I reminded Sam, my eyebrow quirked.
“Yeah, well, almost is enough for me. Guy’s also good at keeping secrets. You should be thanking God I know as much as I just told you.”
“Who’s bankrolling it? A hit on a councilman is a pretty big deal. Even for a guy like Larroca.”
“Yeah, no shit. Which is why I wouldn’t even want to know who’s behind it.”
I considered the details of what Sam had just told me. It was good intel, even if it was vague. It was not enough to impress Theresa with, yet, but it gave me a place to start.
“You’re a good man, Sam,” I tapped the bar once as I rose from my stool.
“You’re a good bullshitter,” Sam retorted. It was our usual goodbye.
You could feel the tension dissipate from the room as I made my way to the exit. Their relief that I was leaving without fucking up or interrogating one of them was that palpable. Normally, I’d have enjoyed the sensation.
Right then, though, I was turning Sam’s intel over and over in my mind.
A hit on a councilman was bad business. Whoever was bankrolling that was in deep with both the underworld and probably the most corrupt elements of the city. It made sense Larroca would be who they’d turn to.
It meant Theresa was going up against more than she knew.
I needed more intel. I needed to make sure she was not walking into a pit of snakes.
Of course, if she was, I was very good at crushing snakes.
9
Theresa
The next morning, I beat some of the paralegals into the office. That was typically unheard of, but I could barely sleep, let alone wait to get cracking on the information Fixer had given me.
I guess there was also a part of me that thought the sooner I got the day going, the sooner night would come. We were ostensibly meeting to go over information related to Larroca, of course. But, who could say? Perhaps things would go a certain way…
As I stepped into my office, set aside my purse, and powered up my computer, a dauntless feeling swelled in my chest.
First things first. I yanked my phone from the receiver before I even sat at my desk. I punched a number. A duty officer answered.
“Get me Captain Mallory,” I said, barely able to contain the glee in my voice. Mallory answered and he’d barely gotten out a “hello” before I started rattling off the information I’d gotten.
“You’re kidding me,” he muttered in his deep baritone. “How did you get this information?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No. I’m sending men out right now. I’ll call you as soon as we’ve picked them up.”
Three hours later, I was at the police precinct standing on the other side of a two-way mirror alongside Captain Mallory. He was a tall, barrel-chested Black man with a bald head and weary eyes. In all the years we’d worked together on cases, I’d never seen him smile.
For my part, I could barely contain my grin. “I’m going in,” I told him.
“Theresa, are you sure about this? I want Larroca behind bars as much as you. It just seems like you’re playing with fire.”
“Except, Antoine Larroca is the one who’s going to get burned.” I turned on my heel and marched myself into the interrogation room.
Of the two men sitting uncomfortably in the room, Daniel Ox was by far the most intriguing. The guy was wearing a shiny purple suit. He had a tightly trimmed beard cut in an eccentric style and gaudy rings on every one of his fingers.
In sharp contrast was O’Neill. He was short, thin to the point of appearing frail. He wore tiny, round wire-rim glasses and had a nose big enough to be a beak.
Ox twiddled his thumbs and whistled to himself like he was waiting to go on a merry-go-round or something. O’Neill’s arms and legs were folded, and he looked like he tried to collapse himself into non-existence.
I introduced myself. Ox eyed me from head-to-toe. O’Neill continued to stare into space. “Tell me about Larroca.”